


Valentine's Day

by Madam_Fandom



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Composed music, Confused John, Dancing, Dinner, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Possible Spoilers, Surprise Date, Unsure Sherlock, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Surprise, mention of mary morstan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:26:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9683177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom
Summary: Sherlock had finally made up his mind to tell John how he felt.A short story ideal taken from Tumblr all in the spirit of Valentine's Day. Hope you enjoy.Each story in the Valentine's Series are more or less stand alone stories.





	

[Tumblr prompt](http://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/157023310298/themed-prompts-unrequited-love)

 

Sherlock looked around the kitchen, thoroughly proud of himself. John would be home soon and he had finally worked up the nerve to tell John how he felt about him.

He had on his aubergine button up and a pair of black trousers, he been told in no uncertain terms by John that he looked quite handsome in this particular ensemble. He’d even mussed his hair and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, he wanted to be as appealing to John as possible. Just in case he was making a complete arse of himself.

 

Ten minutes later Sherlock stopped his pacing in the kitchen as he heard John come in the flat.

“Sherlock!” John called.

“In here John.” Sherlock’s palms were suddenly sweaty and his heart rate doubled in anticipation of John walking through the kitchen door. And if he was completely honest with himself, he was a bit scared.

 

John walked into the kitchen and stopped short. What on earth? On the table was a red tablecloth overlaid with a white knitted table runner. There were red rose petals scattered about the table. Two place settings with covered dishes, and in the center of the table was a platter with a human heart displayed with a taper candle on either side and two red long stem roses in a thin beaker.

 

Sherlock watched nervously as John took in the scene. John smiled and he started to relax.

“Is this some kind of joke Sherlock? What is this?”

Sherlock’s hopes plummeted. He’d thought it would be explicitly obvious what he was on about. Apparently, John was being particularly obtuse today. He stepped forward, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Happy Valentine’s Day John.”

 

John’s mouth dropped opened. He scratched his brow and looked around like he was looking for someone to jump out and yell April Fools. But that was the wrong holiday. He hadn’t even realized it was Valentine’s Day, seeing how he had been single for quite a while now, he’d had no reason to keep track of or commemorate the day. Why on earth had Sherlock?

“I thought today was as good a day as any to discuss matters of the heart. Although it is unclear what Saint Valentine of Terni really stood for, people thought that he -”

“Sherlock, skip the history lesson and tell me what’s going on.”

Sherlock looked down at his feet, “That’s what I am trying to do. I thought it would be obvious.”

“No, not really. Is that a real human heart on the table?”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the table and smiled, the table really came out nice. Looking back at John he realized, maybe he didn’t appreciate the effort in thought that had gone into the table after all. “Yes. Valentine’s day is often associated with hearts, so I used a real one to further cement the occasion. Matters of the heart, a human heart.” He gestured to the table behind him. “Anyways, I ordered us a hodge podge of food and thought after eating maybe you would like to take a stroll with me around London.” Sherlock looked down at his feet again, his nervousness getting the best of him. When no reply came from John, he looked up through the curtain of his curls to see John trying to work it all out. He knew John was clever, but sometimes he over thought things and got in his own way.

“I don’t understand.”

“Big surprise, that,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath. “John, as tradition would have it, Valentine’s Day is about spending the day with your loved one, relating to them how special they are to you, and telling them you love them, in both verbal and nonverbal ways.” Again Sherlock gestured to the table. “John, you are my best and only friend. I can always depend on you to do what is best for me. There is none other in my life that means as much to me as you, you are very special. I love you and am trying to show you that with all of this.”

John cocked his head to the side and squinted at Sherlock. He really couldn’t tell if Sherlock was joking, putting him on, or if he was bloody serious. And what did he mean he loved him? Platonically? Because flowers and hearts, human or otherwise, didn’t say friendship. It said romance. And Sherlock had told him plenty of times he was married to his work and had no time or interest in emotional entanglement.

“Well, say something John.”

“Um, Happy Valentine’s Day.” Sherlock beamed at him and pulled out a chair in front of one place setting, gesturing for him to sit down, John did.

Sherlock hurriedly turned off the lights in the kitchen, leaving it bathed in the gentle light of the candles. Sherlock sat down across from John, gave a tight smile, “Bon appétit.”

“Sherlock if you want me to eat, you have to get rid of the heart.” John saw Sherlock’s face fall in disappointment, he almost told him to just leave it, but he could not, would not eat while staring at a human heart.

“But John, I don’t have any other hearts to place there.”

“It’s fine Sherlock. Just remove the platter and leave the flowers and candles.”

 

Sherlock got up slowly, a little hurt that John didn’t like the heart, he thought it had been a nice touch, bringing a bit of realism. Picking up the platter he placed it in the refrigerator. Turning around he saw the look of derision John shot him, “I’ll, uh- take care of that later.”

Instead of sitting down Sherlock grabbed a bottle from the worktop. “I almost forgot the wine.” He smiled nervously as he poured John a glass and then himself before sitting down again.

“Okay. Let’s eat.”

 

John took the cover off of his plate, there were oysters, Thai fried rice, as well as fish and chips. All of their favorite foods, the only thing missing was some sweets. He picked up a chip and could feel Sherlock watching him. “You sure this isn’t an experiment or some kind of trick?”

“What? No. Eat your food, I didn’t slave over my phone ordering food for you to just ignore it.”

John laughed at not only Sherlock's joke but the sheer look of indignation that John would dare ask him again if this was a joke. John just couldn’t fathom Sherlock being serious, he suddenly grew a heart and professed his love? Just seemed fishy. They ate in silence for a while until Sherlock spoke up.

“After dinner, I have prepared a bit of chocolate covered Tiramisu gelato and a snifter of Brandy. And after that, if you will, a dance before that stroll.”

“Hold up. You prepared? A dance?”

“Well, I didn’t prepare it per se, but I instructed them what I wanted and how to make it happen. And yes, if you feel obliged, I would like to have a dance later. Would you fancy a bit of music now?”

John spoke around the food in his mouth, “Sure, sure. Why not?”

Sherlock went to the sitting room and it wasn’t long before the mournful melancholy sounds of a violin wafted through the flat.

“Oh, Sherlock! I didn’t mean for you to play. Come and finish eating.”

Sherlock marched back through the door. “I’m not playing.”

“Oh is that not you?”

“Course it is. It is a recording of every song I have ever composed for you.”

“For me? How many are there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You know we’ve known each other for quite a few years and have been through a lot. Music helps me deal with the emotions I can’t or aren’t ready to process.”

John listened to the music playing. After hearing Sherlock's explanation of how and why he creates his music, he couldn’t help but feel bad about the current piece playing. It was beautiful but so sad.

 

Sherlock picked at the remainder of his food. Nervous that John was finally listening to the music he’d composed for him. Music that spoke of the love, hope, desire, pain and anger that he had felt for the other man during their brief friendship. Could John feel the sadness and hopeless that he felt when he wrote this piece? Pushing the food around on his plate he quietly hummed along with the music.

 

John was surprised to feel himself close to tears. He was no longer interested in eating. John sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. He listened intently until the song changed to something heavy with short, sharp burst of sound. The only way John could describe it was angry. And to be honest it had a sexual undertone, at least to him it did. It reminded him of angry sex. He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock, the man was staring down in his lap with just a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “Were you angry with me here Sherlock?”

“No. Not angry with you, but about the situation. I had just come back after two years and…”

“And...”

“And Mary! I faked my death to protect you, I was gone for two years running from country to country, my life in danger getting shot at, tortured and when I got back, you were planning to marry her. I felt angry with the irony of it all.”

John sat up straighter hearing the anguish in Sherlock’s voice. Maybe he was serious and not just putting him on. “You never told me why you left. You never explained any of it to me!”

“What was the point? You were about to be married.” Sherlock stood up, “Gelato?”

“No thank you, not now.” John stood up as well getting some containers out to put away the food.

 

A new song started, it started off light and carefree. John looked to Sherlock, “Are these songs in order of when you composed them?”

“Nope. This one I wrote during The Blind Banker case.”

“How on earth did you have time to compose a song? We barely got any sleep on that case.”

Sherlock simply smiled while he prepared the heart for disposal. The song played on, dipping into low ominous notes. Sherlock watched as John stopped what he was doing, listening with his whole body.

“Was this bit because we lost, Soo Lin?”

“It’s a warning, love can be taken away at a moment's notice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Andy loved Soo Lin, he never got the chance to tell her.”

 

The two finish cleaning up the kitchen in silence the song finishing and on to a new one. Sherlock washed and dried his hands, holding one out to John. John looked at his hand questioningly. “Fancy that dance now?”

“Uh, I don’t know. You know I’m not a dancer.”

“I’ll lead. You’ll do fine.”

John reluctantly placed his hand in Sherlock’s he wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing. He knew he cared for his flatmate. They’ve been to Hell and back with and for one another, but was he really prepared to take a step in the opposite direction? And what if it was all just a joke or an experiment so that Sherlock could prove some kind of point, what then? John continued thinking hard not really realizing that Sherlock had pulled him into his arms until Sherlock’s hand settled against his lower back. He looked up at Sherlock, this was much closer than when Sherlock had taught him how to waltz for his wedding.

 

Sherlock held John’s gaze as the new song started. This one he had written just two nights before when he decided to come clean to John about his feelings. The beginning was shaky, to express how unsure he was of taking this step. He guided John around their sitting room in short circles, having limited space, he hadn’t wanted to move the furniture and tip John off that something was up.

 

Wetting his lips, Sherlock began to hum with the next bit, the tempo picked up slightly showing his bravery, his intention of storming the castle gate and professing his love. John closed his eyes into the next part. It was soft and happy, meant to portray the feelings of love if John accepted Sherlock.

The end of the song had John’s eyes snapping open staring at Sherlock. He stopped allowing himself to be lead around the room, just stared up at Sherlock. The song made a complete change, it crescendoed, tempo turning hurried, almost violent. There was an air of desperation and abandon to the song. And when the song ended suddenly it shook John to his core. He understood this song as if he had written it himself.

John reached up a hand, and with shaky fingers wiped at a tear running down Sherlock’s cheek. “So, you’re serious then? This isn’t all some elaborate scheme?”

Sherlock shook his head. He couldn’t understand how John still thought this was all some kind of joke, he had put his heart on the line, wore it like a badge for John to see. And it was apparent that John had taken it all with a grain of salt. He let go of John, taking a step back he righted his clothes and pivoted, turning off the music. Facing John again, he gave a small bow, “Goodnight John and Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

John thought about the song that had just ended and panicked. He raced after Sherlock, grabbing his arm just before he reached his room. “Sherlock-”

“No. I’m sorry John for all the things I’ve done to make you think this could be just another joke.” Sherlock tried to pull away from John but he held on firmly.

“Sherlock, look at me please.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, stood up straight. Here it came, the punch to the stomach. John was about to tell him he loved him of course, they were best friends. But he didn’t love him in a romantic sense.

Sherlock turned, tears in his eyes, soul laid bare. He would take John’s condemnation head on, he was sure this was all he was deserving of anyways.

 

When Sherlock turned and faced him, John’s heart broke. Sherlock was like an open book, he believed he didn’t deserve love and would not have it. He was prepared to go to the extreme to stop his pain. John felt like an utter cock. How long had Sherlock been living his life for him? How long had Sherlock been subjecting himself to John’s ire? How long had Sherlock been in love with him? He suspected it was before Mary. Christ! Sherlock had helped them plan the wedding, had stood in as his best man. He’d been shot by his wife and yet he still stood by their sides and did everything in his power to help them. And never with any show of thanks. Sherlock stood a broken man before him. It must have been so difficult to bare himself the way he did. He wasn’t an affectionate man, at least he had never shown that side before. But in that instance, John was reminded of all the little touches, inquiries of if John was okay. Standing up for him even when it wasn’t needed. Helping John to look more like a hero than he was. And all of John's girlfriends, it made so much bloody sense now. Sherlock had always shown he cared.

John again reached up his hand wiping away a tear, but allowed his hand to cup the side of Sherlock’s face, fingers tunneling into his dark curls. Holding eye contact, he saw the look of surprise that ran across Sherlock’s face as John pulled him down to meet his lips in a kiss. He kissed the man before him gently, trying to apologize and put his own feelings to action. He had been interested in pursuing something more with Sherlock before, but when he thought it was a lost cause he gave up on that dream and shoved it in a box, in an abandoned corner of both his mind and heart. And the thought of having that chance now made his heart burst with joy. This was real. Sherlock was really offering something real and tangible. He licked against Sherlock's lips seeking entrance, Sherlock opened up on a moan, he clutched at John’s shoulders, and John could feel him shaking. Concerned he pulled away, wiping at more tears in the process. “Sherlock, I’m here. And I want this.”

Sherlock couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat, couldn’t see past the tears that kept falling. He was a mess.

“Sherlock, can you hear me? I love you too.” John pulled him into a tight embrace.

Sherlock cried, allowing himself to be comforted by John and reassured. He loved this man, and John Watson loved him back.


End file.
